Roads

                                    I like to write about roads I have walked down many times. Not just once, however striking. I must have walked many times, repeated the rhythm into a tiny version of regular life, and from that little version of a long life, extract a few words about how the road is and so on. I like this feeling of having lived a little bit of life on that road, a tiny bit of how an old man would feel who sauntered down that path every evening, meaninglessly, throughout his life. With that slight feeling of having lived a bit, I can begin to place words into sentences, and write about the road. Not that it matters. My words are fake. Leave all this. I merely walk down a road many times.